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Pause
Exhausted.
Air, replacing what were
once buttery, aromatic mountains.
Vacant.
My thoughts,
no longer spinning
with thoughts of anticipations.
Empty.
The arctic box,
growing bleak with
anguish,
free from contant food raids.
Lost.
I frantically scavenge
for answers.
My thumbs typing at
100 mph.
Eyes scanning,
heart beat increasing.
How will I once again
find a replica of perfection,
fill my heart with laughter and sorrow?
I've reached a blackhole-like
predicament:
No more shows to binge.
It's time to face the fact.
But am I ready to move on?
I have to.
There's so much to do,
so much to see
away from the menacing
brain washing machine.
I don't need to drown
myself in the lives of
others.
I don't need to watch
others succeed
while I lounge in a heap.
Get up.
Get out of this trap.
Make your own
Happily Ever After.
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